Innocence
by Jezebel Malice
Summary: [2:2] 'I haven’t been the same since her; she had feasted upon my innocence in her short time, and took every last bit of it, until there was nothing left to take.' (femmeslash: Veela Diaries)
1. Innocence

(A/n: I am really going to do something very out of MY ordinary. Usually I am nothing but a Hermione/Ginny shipper, but I think I need a change, just for one ficlet. You'll be able to tell who the pairing is, if you haven't searched for this pairing specifically already. Much love and appreciation, I give to you!)  
  
Innocence  
  
DISCLAMER: I do not own the Harry Potter characters or imaginary places. They are owned and created by Joanne Rowling, published by Scholastic Books Inc, Bloomsbury Books Inc, Raincoat Books Inc. Warner Brothers Inc, and others. No money is being made from this and no copyright infringement is intended. (Although I do like to play with her characters from time to time, and make them be dirrrrrty.)  
  
[Oneshot]: Innocence  
  
I was a child, did she not see? Did she not care? She stole every last bit of innocence from me. She used me, just like I was used before.  
  
I used to be the perfect student, top of my year. Though I was not popular, I hung out with all the right people and got all of the proper everything, with the exception of a boy. (Due to a traumatic experience as a younger girl I had a tendency to stay away from the male type.) I never really thought twice about the fact I wasn't into guys.  
I was in my third year in school; it was the Tri-Wizard tournament. I watched her carefully as she passed though the halls of my school. Tossing about her platinum mane, fluttering the eyelashes of her icy blue eyes; once or twice she caught me and gave me a wink, and then flashed me that smile, the one that had a tendency to make a guy cum at the sight of it. I'm surprised I didn't.  
The fact that I had these animalistic feelings welling up inside of me every time I saw her, made me think twice. The fact that I got tingly in places I hadn't known existed, if not for her presence, I would not have thought twice. I did. Maybe I wasn't meant to like boys; I never really did in the first place.  
I had felt this way before, though it wasn't as strong of a sexual feeling as this was. I had always had this thing for Hermione. Every time I saw her, my stomach would flutter. Slowly I'd let myself fall into those chocolate eyes, only to be slapped by reality, that she was far out of my reach. Sometimes I think she never knew I even existed. Which I guess is why I was drawn to the blonde woman. Though seeming more out of reach than Hermione, there was something about her that made her seem more -- attainable, I guess.  
My brother and I had the same problem every time we saw her; we froze, smiled like bloody idiots, and tried to not soil ourselves. Sad as it was, it was true. She only laughed at him though, he, trying desperately to hide whatever manhood he had with a book. When she looked at me there was always that smile and a certain gleaming in those icy eyes.  
I never has the guts to say anything, not even a simple 'Hi' or 'Hello'. Not until the Yule Ball anyway.  
  
She looked fabulous, I think, or imagined she would have. I don't remember. I had my first drink ever that night. That's what I get for hanging around the older girls. Four shots of Fire Whisky and I was set; off stumbling, arm linked with Neville, whom eyed me suspiciously.  
I danced like a mad woman, not even caring; Neville was squashing my feet, I was tripping over my own feet every so often, getting strange looks from everyone. I decided to call it quits, because, to be honest, I was totally smashed beyond all belief. I assume that's why she 'went in for the kill' right then. I think it must have been one o' clock when I sat down. Not shortly after, did she spot me.  
She walked coolly over to me, hips swaying, and her feet stepping in time with the music. It was like something out of a dream. She gave me a half smile and sat next to me. She leaned over and whispered something in French. I didn't know what she said, but I kind of got the hint when she licked my ear then bit down on it gently. She stood, and I followed her. We snuck out quietly and carefully, so not to be seen. We weren't.  
She held my trembling hand and led me out to the quiddich pitch. Once we got there she stopped and gave me that smile again. She led me beneath the bleachers, and I got a bit uneasy. We stood in silence. I was searching her face for answers, as she looked me up and down, sizing me up.  
Finally I had the courage to speak; liquor has that effect on me. "Look, I don't know you, and I don't know why I even followed you out here. Why did you take me here?"  
"Mademoiselle," she spoke with that sexy French accent as she spoke nearly flawless English, "I am so sorry to not have told you where we would be going. I wanted to tell you that I have seen you watching me, and I am more flattered by you than those," she gave a look of slight disgust, "boys," she finished, almost like the word was poison on her lips. "I wanted to know you, more than to know them. I wanted quiet and seclusion, and we have that now." Again with that smile, perfect teeth glittering.  
"Okay--" I was confused as all hell, and I had my obvious drunkenness in my movements. "So wait, why am I here?"  
She did not answer with words. She simply took a few paces towards me, closing the gap between us. She looked viciously into my eyes, her blue piercing my own hazel ones with desire. She smiled that smile, just before she covered my mouth with hers. It was my first real kiss. She laughed softly into my mouth.  
Jolts of electricity coursed through my body, settling beneath the bottom of my stomach. She slowly melted my insides with that searing kiss. She flicked her tongue across my lower lip and I opened without hesitation. She put her hands on my back to bring me closer. Almost instinctively I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and drew her down to my height.  
She tasted like nothing else I'd tasted. Probably better than I did at this moment, alcohol still burning on my tongue. She smelled like springtime and I couldn't get enough of her, just as she couldn't get enough of me.  
I'm not positive as to what happened next, but I woke up in my own bed, sheets smelling like her, and a pain in my lower abdomen. I had slept with her.  
I went for a shower, no one even noticing me as I walked out of the dorm, very scantily clad. I was always invisible. Later, I found a note under my pillow:  
  
Red- Meet me Saturday. Same time, same place. You know where to go. ~Blondie  
  
Not wanting to disappoint her, I went, but not without getting into the same state as I was the previous Saturday. I definitely am more reserved when sober. There is no way I could talk to her without it. So, I hung out with the older girls; more liquor, and this time, something else, some muggle hallucinogen. How they got it all past Dumbledore is beyond me, I didn't bother to question it.  
When twelve thirty rolled around I headed out. No one asked me where I was going; I just left without a word. I crossed the grounds, masked by the shadows and my black cloak. When I arrived at our spot, she was there waiting.  
"Early I see," this time there was no smile. She waited for me to go to her. I did so, willingly. She was sitting on the ground against a support pillar. I sat down, knee on either side, and I initiated it this time. She soon took control and I ended up the next morning, just as I did the last time; alone with a note, but it was for the next Tuesday evening.  
Tuesday showed up. I was anxious all day. I decided to see her sober. I wanted to know my lover sober. To my surprise, when I went to meet her that night, she was smashed. She must have been the other two times as well. I felt so gross and used that night, and I was sober every night after, to hopefully find out what was wrong. But it was the same night after night. After a few nights I began cutting myself.  
  
Basically we had a ritual to the whole thing. First she enticed me with a kiss, then she fucked me, and then I fucked her. I say fucked, because, it obviously wasn't love, so we weren't making love, and it wasn't just sex, because it was dirty, painful, and pointless.  
She didn't look at me the entire time, she just did her thing and I did mine, without speaking, kissing, or anything. She was mildly violent, often left bruises on my thighs and back and chest, and if my cuts were fresh she would press hard on them until they bled. That was only a few times though. When we were done with what we were doing she got dressed and left me there naked, cold, alone, with a note in my fist. Not even so much as a goodbye. She hadn't smiled once since the Yule Ball.  
That's kind of how it went. I was there for her sake. She seemed so sad and alone. It's almost as if we were brought together we were the only ones like us, or so it seemed at the time.  
I probably saw her two to three times a week, until she left to go back to France. The last night we spent together she finally broke the silence.  
She was lieing on her front side, petting my stomach when she spoke, "Red, I am going home tomorrow."  
"I know," I said almost sadly.  
"I had a very lovely time with you, even if it seemed I did not. You are a fantastic girl, you are strong and beautiful. I wish I could be strong like you," a tear ran down her perfect complexion. "I am so sorry for everything I did to you. Sometimes I don't even understand."  
I pulled her close to me. It was probably the most intimate thing that happened between us since she got there. "It's okay," I said, crying, "I understand," even though I really didn't. I still don't know why she did all those things to me, and didn't ever say a word until now.  
"Thank you," she whispered into my shoulder. "Tomorrow, when I go, no tears, no hugs, no kisses, no I love you's, or goodbyes."  
"Okay, I promise," I said. I remember saying it was okay that she didn't want to say or do those things, but I felt like I had been slapped. I couldn't cry when she left, but I would cry now.  
She got up and left shortly after, but just before she did she said, through her tears and hair, "Do not forget me. I will not forget you. Love doesn't forget." She disappeared from sight. The last thing I saw of her was her blue eyes, glowing from behind her platinum hair as she turned to run.  
  
She didn't love me, I know she didn't.  
  
I didn't love me.  
  
(A/n: wow, I come up with some really messed up shit. Maybe I should start taking my happy pills again, although I am much more productive if I don't. For someone, you know who you are, this is the story that I meant to tell you, but couldn't at the time. There wasn't enough time in which to do so. Please, since you must have taken the time to read this; review.) 


	2. Epilogue

(A/n: okay, I changed a couple of small things in the last chapter and made the Epilogue one of its own. More added to it of course. Enjoy.)  
  
Epilogue:  
  
I haven't been the same since her; she had feasted upon my innocence in her short time, and took every last bit of it, until there was nothing left to take. So here I am, an emotional wreck and so very fragile.  
  
I didn't watch them leave that next day. I didn't talk to anyone, not until that next fall, as a matter of fact. I spent most of my summer going for 'walks' in the woods near the burrow. I don't think I had a sober day for a year; a year and six months exactly, actually.  
I liked being alone, going through life with a clouded head. Everything was so much easier. I didn't have to think or feel anything, and if I did I could always take more, drink more, smoke more; everything in excess. I Wouldn't have wanted it, no; I Couldn't have had it any other way. I was alone, always alone, drifting through life like a raft in the ocean.  
  
I had begun self mutilation before she left, you know, sometime after we started meeting at the pitch. I remember; I used to sit in the shower with my knife or razor and cut, cut, cut, everywhere; my thighs, my arms, my ankles, my chest, my shoulders. I liked to watch the red of the blood dilute and swirl with the pure, clean water as it went down the drain.  
Sometimes I would sit in there for hours, letting myself get light headed and tunnel vision. It was almost as good as getting high or drunk. Sometimes the smallest little cut can make one feel like that, high, and on top of the world. Most of the major scars have faded, but I have yet to kick the habit.  
  
Eventually Hermione and I got together. She loves me in all that I am and all I am not. She has helped me sober up and be a happier, more enjoyable person. I love her too. I haven't been able to love in a long time, but now I can say I can. She is everything I want in someone. And I know she will do her best to keep me from pain. That, in itself, is amazing. I don't think anyone has ever loved me like that. It also helps we have enough in common to have a good foundation, but enough differences to keep things from getting mind numbing.  
  
Sex is interesting. For some reason, when I have fresh cuts on my shoulders, that Hermione is going to bite them when she put her face by them, but she doesn't. She kisses them, then me, and makes me feel safe and comfy, like nothing can hurt me when we're wrapped up together. I actually enjoy cumming and making her cum. I like it when she uses her nimble fingers to find every 'tickle' spot on my body. I like the little noises of pleasure she makes.  
Fleur never made any noise. She made me feel like a whore, who bended to her every whim, because I did. It was so mechanical and serious when we fucked, the polar opposite of making love with Hermione, which is whimsical and happy, no matter the circumstance.  
Sometimes I almost want Hermione to hurt me, just because it was part of the mechanical fucking. After two and a half years it's still engrained in my head. I don't even know if I like it, or what. Just, sometimes I want to ask her to do something painful, or sometimes I won't tell her when something hurts, but she knows. She knows my body, and my limits and she will say something if I don't. I feel bad doing that, because it brings her to tears.  
  
I'm sorry baby, I won't lie again, I promise. You know me, a promise is a promise, and I hate to see you hurt. You know I won't go back on it.  
  
I don't understand. I'm sure it will be with me still, no matter how much I don't want it to be a part of my past and me. Sometimes I forget, and I'm elated, hand in hand with my girlfriend, but am quickly reminded when I get a floo-call or an owl from Fleur, asking when I'm free next, and my mood falters and crumbles to bitterness, and hurt.  
Here's the thing, I am free. I'm free from Fleur, and I never want to see her again.  
  
Fleur has come to visit from France every once in a while, and hasn't changed a bit. She tries to tell me she loves me, but all she wants to do is fuck. Honestly, I can't stand the sight of her anymore. I hear she is moving here, to England, to work in the ministry as a spy. She'll be close enough to haunt me.  
  
Hermione has yet to begin to comprehend what went on between me and Fleur. I was a toy. Used over and over, and I couldn't stop it. Now I'm affected forever. It's like being hemophilic, once the bleeding starts, it's hard to stop.  
  
(A/n: well that's much better. See that little box in the lower left hand corner... yeah, that one... now, review!) 


End file.
